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A rural, shelter d, folitary scene;
Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join,
To cheer the gloom. There stucious let me fit,
And hold high converse with the Mighty Dead;
Sages of ancient time, as gods rever'd,
As gods beneficent, who blest mankind
With arts, with arms, and humaniz'd a world.
Rous’d at th’ inspiring thought, I throw aside
The long-liv'd volume; and, deep mufing, hail
The sacred shades, that slowly-rising pass
Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates,
Who, firmly good in a corrupted state,
Against the rage of tyrants single stood,
Invincible! calm Recalon's holy law,
That voice of God within th' attentive mind,
Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death :
Great moral teacher! wiseft of mankind!
Solon the next, who built his common-weal
On equity's wide base; by tender laws
A lively people curbing, yet undamp'd
Preserving still that quick peculiar fire,
Whence in the laureld field of finer arts,
And of bold freedom, they unequal'd lhone,
The pride of smiling Greece, and human-kind.
V Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force

Of ftricteft discipline, severely wise,
All human passions. Following him, I fee,
As at Thermopylæ be glorious fell,
The firm * devoted Chief, who prov'd by deeds

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The hardest lesson which the other taught.
Then Aristides lifts his honest front;
Spotless of heart, to whom th’unflattering voice 460
Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just;
In pure majestic poverty rever'd;
Who, ev’n his glory to his country's weal
Submitting, swell'd a haughty *rival's fame.
Rear'd by his care, of softer ray appears 465
Cimon sweet-foul'd; whose genius, rising strong,
Shook off the load of young debauch; abroad
The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend
Of

every worth and every splendid art; Modest, and fimple, in the pomp of wealth. 470 Then the last worthies of declining Greece, Late call’d to glory, in unequal times, Pensive, appear.

The fair Corinthian boast,
Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm,
Who
wept

the brother while the tyrant bled. 475
And, equal to the best, the if Theban Pair,
Whose virtues, in heroic concord join’d,
Their country rais’d to freedom, empire, fame.
He too, with whom Athenian honour funk;
And left a mass of fordid lees behind,
Phocion the Good; in public life fevere,
To virtue still inexorably firm;
But when, beneath his low illuftrious roof,
Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow,
Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. 485
* Themistocles. † Pelopidas and Epaminondas.

And

480

And he, the last of old Lycurgus' fons,
The generous victim to that vain attempt,
To save a rotten state, Agis, who fawt
Ev’n Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk.
The two Achaian heroes close the train:

490
Aratus, who a while relum'd the soul
Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece :
And he her darling as her latest hope,
The gallant Philopæmen ; who to arms
Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure;

495 Or toiling in his farm, a simple swain ; Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field.

Of rougher front, a mighty people come ! A race of heroes ! in those virtuous times Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame 500 Their dearef country they too fondly lov'd : Her better founder first, the light of Rome, Numa, who soften’d her rapacious fons : Servius the King, who laid the solid base On which o’er earth the vast republic spread. Then the great confuls venerable rise. The * Public Father who the Private quell'd, As on the dread tribunal sternly fad. He, whom his thankless country could not lose, Camillus, only vengeful to her foes. Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold; And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough. Thy + willing Victim, Carthage, bursting loose * Marcus Junius Brutus. + Regulus.

From

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510

From all that pleading Nature could oppose,
From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith

515
Imperious call’d, and honour's dire command.
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave,
Who soon the race of spotless glory ran,
And, warm in youth, to the poetic foade
With Friendship and Philosophy retir’d.

520 Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome. Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme. And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd,

525 Lifted the Roman fleel against thy friend. Thousands besides the tribute of a verse Demand; but who can count the stars of heaven? Who sing their influence on this lower world ?

Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, 530
Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun :
"Tis Phæbus felf, or elfe the Mantuan Swain !
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing,
Parent of fong! and equal by his side,
The British Muse; join'd hand in hand they walk,
Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame.
Nor absent are those thatles, whose skilful touch
Pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart, and charm’d
Transported Athens with the moral scene :
Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting lyre.

First of your kind! society divine !
Still visit thus my nights, for you reservd,
And mount my foaring foul to thoughts like yours.

Silence,

Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine;
See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude,

545
Save a few chosen friends, who fometimes deign
To bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd,
Learning digefted well, exalted faith,
Unstudy'd wit, and humour ever gay.
Or from the Mufes' hill will Pope defcend,

550 To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, And with the focial fpirit warm the heart? For though not fweeter his own Homer fings, Yet is his life the more endearing fong. : Where art thou, Hammond ? theu the darling pride, The friend and lover of the tuneful throng! Ah, why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime Of vernal genius, where disclofing faft Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, Why wert thou ravifh'd from our hope so foon? What now avails that noble thirst of fame, Which ftung thy fervent breast that treafur'd store Of knowledge, early gain’d? that eager zeal To serve thy country, glowing in the band Of Youthful Patriots, who fuftain her name?

365 What now, alas ! that life-diffufing charm Of sprightly wit? that rapture for the Muse, That heart of friendship, and that foul of joy, Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile? Ah ! only shew'd, to check our fond purfuits, And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain !

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant soul,

Or

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